


Stay

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Cuddling, First Kiss, Fluff, Get Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Game, fear of violence, mentions of pet death, past Jack/Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 20:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8728675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's not actually because of Jack, but Kent would rather people just assume.  At least until he runs into Mashkov after the game.  But when he's invited for a beer instead of a beating, Kent realises things are about to change.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for anon who just lost their dog and wanted some patater fluff.

He’s angry. He’s flustered and sad and confused because he never knows what to do with his feelings when he’s like this. It doesn’t help that it’s his first game against Zimms in well...ever--because they’re in Providence for their one of two games against the Aces for the season, assuming they’re not gonna play each other for the cup this year--and that’s anyone’s guess.

But yeah. Everyone on the team assumes it’s Jack because even though they don’t know, they know it’s something with Zimmermann and the Aces care about Kent too much to pry.

Kent knows what they assume.

And he lets them.

Because it’s a lot easier than saying his life just turned into a fucking Series of Unfortunate Events, starting with his mother calling saying she had to put down the cat he’s had since he was nine, his sister getting back together with the shithead Kent almost beat the fuck out of last Hanukkah, and his dad somehow managing to find his phone number and call an hour before he had to be at the afternoon skate.

So.

He’s not in the best headspace.

And it gets worse because the press keep asking about Zimms, and all Kent can hear is Jack’s voice echoing in his head because the last time he had to deal with his dad, Jack was the one who talked him down.

Fuck.

When he took the shot and rushed the goalie--which okay yeah was half intentional--he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone but he was amped up and over-compensating, and he was lifted by the collar of his shirt and threatened by the giant (and holy shit gorgeous) Russian, he thought, well this fucking figures.

Kent’s been threatened like that before. He’s been hit like that before. Off the ice. On the ice. He has a really bad habit of pissing people off beyond reason.

It’s no surprise he’s flinching later when that same, massive Russian finds him curled up outside against the loading dock entrance door. He figured no one would be coming out there and it would be a safe place to hide from his team and any straggling Falconers who were still pretty pissed about the loss.

Mashkov walks out with his phone pressed to his ear and he’s speaking in rapid, frustrated-sounding Russian. Kent can pick up a few words here and there. He’s been through the first level of Rosetta Stone because he’s got three Russian guys on his team and when they were Rookies they most English they knew was from watching Cutting Edge eight-thousand times. Say what you want about his plays, but Kent knows he’s a fucking good captain and he’s not about to let his new guys hang like that.

Whatever Mashkov’s got going on, it sounds like a family thing. He hears the word for grandmother, and father, and then a few names Kent’s not familiar with. And he repeats I’m fine a bunch, then says I love you and hangs up.

Kent knows he should shut the entire fuck up because Mashkov hasn’t seen him, and if the guy’s frustrated, what better way to take it out than punching the ‘Little Rat’ in the face, right?

But Kent is nothing if not stupid. So he leans forward and says, “That kind of night, huh?”

Mashkov spins, eyes wide, looking startled and one hand slips his phone into his pocket while the other curls into a fist and Kent thinks, oh, here we go.

But instead of coming at him, or even looking angry, Mashkov sinks to the edge of the loading dock and covers his face. “You too?” he asks.

Kent’s eyes widened because he was preparing for a fight--and by that he was preparing to ice a black eye and a few bruised ribs. But if Mashkov wants to talk it out first well...why the hell not. “Yeah. Going around, I guess. You uh...you okay?”

After a second, Mashkov drops his hands, taking one to rake through his hair and mussing up his loose curls so they’re standing every which way. “Family. They...” He grunts and spits out a few words Kent doesn’t recognise because they weren’t covered in basic greetings and how to order food. “Frustrating. Want things, I’m can’t give. Am too far, can’t go home.”

Kent lets out a dry, humourless laugh. “Yeah, man. It’s fucked, isn’t it? Being so far.”

Mashkov turns to him, lifting a brow, head cocked to the side. “You are...your family...American?”

Kent nods. “Yeah. My mom and sis live in New York so like most of the year I can’t do shit about their problems. And it fucking sucks. Especially when you have a little sister determined to make the fucking worst decisions of her life and...” he stops. “Sorry, you didn’t ask me for a bio.”

At that, Mashkov actually smiles and he shakes his head. “Is okay. I’m understand what you’re meaning. Family is...difficult.” He hesitates, then stands up and Kent thinks, well at least he didn’t get beat up. Then the giant turns. “You are...you want drink? When you fly out?”

“Uh. We got a bus down to Boston tomorrow at noon,” Kent says. “Bruins. Why?”

“I’m not live far. You can...if you want drink? But,” he stops and looks a little sad suddenly. “You want to celebrate with team, yes? On win?”

Kent almost laughs because he fucking loves his guys but the mood he’s in, they won’t want him around as much as he doesn’t want to be around them. They won, but the last fucking thing he feels like seeing is smiling faces. He’s busy right now, anyway, not to picture Zimms going home to that cute kid from the Haus party because Kent knows Jack better than anyone and he knows Jack would only hold out for so damn long.

Kent is miserable, and Mashkov seems kind of miserable and he’s pretty down with the whole misery loves company thing so...

“Yeah fuck it. You got beer or what?”

“Beer, yes,” Mashkov says, and looks both startled and pleased. “Take my car? You can take uber back to hotel later.”

Kent thinks this is probably a really fucking bad idea, but he stands up and hops off the platform, then looks up at Mashkov because fuck the guy is tall, and claps him on the arm. “Come on, let’s go wallow and drown our sorrows in shitty American Beer.”

*** 

Turns out the beer is not shitty, nor is it American, and Mashkov is really decent company. Ten minutes into the drive he actually gets Kent to laugh--like full-on belly laugh when he tells the story about how he found his fucking dog in an alley in Russia like he’s in some sort of Cold War romance movie or something.

“That’s fucking...that’s great,” Kent says, swiping his hand under his eye. “A fucking three-legged dog. Jesus. Tell me you named him Champion.”

Mashkov looks confused as he turns onto a surprisingly suburban-looking street, and rounds a corner. “No,” he says slowly.

“Parks and Rec,” Kent clarifies, but when Mashkov continues to look confused, Kent huffs and says, “Jesus, I’m putting it on when we get to your house. I fucking hope you have Netflix.”

He does.

Mashkov lives in a house way too big for him, with four bedrooms an an office which has been converted to a weight room. The back yard overlooks the water which is less than a mile away, and the whole thing is decorated in warm colours, though it looks a little like a hotel with generic art prints and floral patterns. But he’s got a lot of photos of himself and his family, his old team in the KHL, and his draft photo holding up his Falconers Jersey.

It’s all really nice and Kent thinks about his own apartment, how it’s mostly that industrial, cold look and the only real thing about it is Kit and Kit’s massive cat-condo which takes up half his living room (and maybe the cat-claw marks on his sofa because she’d rather use expensive leather than specifically designed scratching posts, but whatever).

Kent immediately makes himself at home as Alexei gets the beer, and he plops on the sofa which is made of a material that kind of feels like a soft towel. He rubs his fingers against it as he flicks the TV on and pulls up the Netflix app.

Parks and Rec takes a minute to find, and he skips the first season because it’s not the best and he wants Alexei to actually like it. He queues it up and waits, his eyes falling on a photo near the bookshelf which shows Alexei--ridiculously tall for being a teen, gangly and spotty-faced. He’s got a Kippah on, and a tallit, and he’s next to an older man who kind of looks like him.

Alexei comes in and sees Kent staring, and laughs. “Is my bar mitzvah.”

Kent laughs. “Shit. You were fucking tall for thirteen.”

Alexei hands the beer off and sits, but not before grabbing the photo down off the shelf. He traces his finger along the ornate frame. “I was. Was my dedushka, he want me to have big party after. He was only one in family who not want me to play hockey. Think it too hard on kids in Russia.”

“Was he right?” Kent asks softly.

Alexei looks up. “Yes. Is hard for kids. Not...not allowed to be kids. But I’m love hockey, and want to play. He understand, in the end. But not happy. Want me to be like him.”

Kent raises a brow. “What was he? Dairy farmer?” And he laughs when Alexei laughs mostly because some days that sounds really fucking nice--a farm and some cows and goats and not being famous.

“He was Rabbi,” Alexei says, and for some reason picturing Alexei as a rabbi makes Kent laugh and laugh until his eyes water again.

“Oh my god I can...I can actually see that,” and he can. He shakes his head and says quietly, “My bar mitzvah was huge. The party after. My mom let me invite like literally everyone. All my goyim friends, though where we lived there were only like five of them in my school.” He smiles when Alexei looks startled at his admission. “She hired a Beastie Boys cover band to play because we were fucking broke as hell but she wanted it to be nice. I didn’t really...get a lot, you know? And I was already in the Q, so I was hardly home. I guess she’d been saving up since I was born for it.” He dragged a hand down his face and tried not to think about his mixed feelings when he found out she’d had all this money all these years she’d been saving.

Even at thirteen all he could think about was their empty food pantry and his mom not buying herself literally anything for years--not even a cup of coffee, and some months where she’d get a third job just to pay the electric bill...and she had so much saved for his dumb party and he wouldn’t have even cared if she’d used it.

But he doesn’t linger now, because he’s rich and she lives in a house he paid for, and Kait’s college has come out of his salary and he feels like at least--for all that he went through--he helped make up for some of that struggle.

He realises Mashkov is looking at him, and he blushes. “Anyway it was nice. We went to a reform synagogue, so our rabbi was a woman. She had that really cool kind of voice where it sounded like she’d been a smoking lounge singer for the first forty years of her life. I liked her.”

Mashkov smiled, and sat a little closer to Kent--close enough he could actually feel the other man’s body heat, and it made Kent’s face redden just slightly. “Sounds nice. Mine was...small. But nice. Get nice gifts, see family from all over. Is not good to be Jewish in Russia all the time, sometime dangerous. Dangerous to be a lot of things there,” he adds quietly.

And Kent knows. He fucking knows. His guys get asked a lot whether or not they support Putin’s views on LGBT and he’s seen the terror in their eyes because they want to be supportive of their Glass Closet Captain, but they also don’t want to face backlash and the potential to never be allowed to go home again.  
“Yeah. That’s fucked. I’m...I get it,” Kent says softly. “I mean, it’s not the same here. But it can be bad sometimes.”

Alexei nods, then lets out a small breath. “Is bad everywhere. World make me...feel tired.”

“I fucking feel that.” Kent offers his beer out and they clink the necks together, and share a smile which goes immediately shy, and Kent does not miss the blush blooming across Alexei’s cheeks. Then his mouth just kind of starts moving without his permission and he says, “I’m sorry about the game tonight.”

Alexei lets out a small laugh. “Aces hockey. I’m know what to expect.”

“That’s...” He means to say not fair because he’s a good player and he tries and he’s not really scrappy or a cheater but...well yeah. They do have a reputation and it’s not all bullshit. “That’s fair. But I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He was alright, yeah?”

Alexei shrugs. “Snowy take care of himself. But is my job to protect. From dangerous plays,” he adds.

Kent flushes and looks down at his hands which are clutching the beer resting over his thighs. “I was having a really fucking bad night and I took it to the ice. I really am sorry.”

He looks up only when he feels a soft grip holding him in the space beween his neck and shoulders, right where his t-shirt doesn’t reach. Alexei’s hand is really warm and surprisingly soft.

“We all have bad night. Is...was not Zimmboni?”

Kent opens his mouth and wants to just blame Jack for it. He knows the Falconers probably have guessed some shit. Everyone knows the stupid, fucking, ESPN regurgitated history of the Parse-Zimms duo in the Q, and even if Jack hasn’t been open about what it was, he was probably asked the same stupid questions as Kent was during press.  
But it’s not fair to blame Jack for this, and Alexei has been really fucking good about this whole thing so he just says, “Nah, no. I mean, obviously there’s shit there and whatever but...no. I...it’s family stuff. And uh...” His voice goes tight because he’s thinking of his dumb cat and how much he loved her, and yeah okay she was really damn old and he gets it. But it makes him think of Kit and how someday he’s gonna have to go through this again and he loves Kit more than anything. “My cat died. Like my old...” He has to clear his throat again. “From when I was a kid. My mom called uh...before the game and...yeah.” He trails off and feels kind of stupid, and picks at the beer label until he feels soft fingers stroking part way up his neck.

His gaze snaps up and Alexei’s watching him carefully. With his other hand, Alexei’s scary large fingers curl round Kent’s beer, plucking it away from him, setting it on the table.

“I’m hug you, okay?” he says.

Kent’s eyes widen. “Um.”

“For comfort. Should have hugs. For...grief,” he says the last word like he was struggling to remember it.

Kent wants to say no, but he’s fucking touch-starved and being wrapped up in those massive arms and held tight sounds like maybe the best and worst thing--and there’s no way in hell he can say no. So he gives a nod and hopes that’s good enough because he doesn’t trust his voice to work.

It’s enough.

Alexei pulls Kent over and two huge arms wrap around him and holy shit it might just be the best fucking hug Kent has ever gotten in his life. It’s the right amount of soft and hard, and Alexei kind of tugs him half onto his lap so Kent’s face is pressed in the crook of his neck. And shit, but Alexei smells good. Not like the other douche bags in the locker room with their over-use of Axe, but something soft and woodsy and subtle. Like soap and...a walk in crisp air.

Kent breathes it in, and feels the gentle curls of Alexei’s hair tickling the side of his face, and he never, ever wants it to end.

It does. But Alexei doesn’t let him get far. He keeps Kent in close, one arm still around him. Neither of them go for their beers. Neither of them try and cut the tension with TV or small talk. They just sort of...exist. Together. Just like that.

It’s possibly the best Kent has felt in years and that thought makes him want to cry even more than Pepper’s death or his sister being a fucking idiot, or his deadbeat dad thinking Kent owes him something now that he’s a cup winner and famous and rich.

He shudders, and he feels Alexei tense beside him. “Is...okay?”

Kent laughs. “Dude, this is probably fucked and I could be putting my entire reputation on the line here, but fuck it. Could you like...never stop cuddling me. Like...ever.”

There’s a pause, then Alexei laughs--bright and warm. “We on different teams, Kent. I’m think might be difficult to beat Aces next time if we cuddle on ice.”

“We could probably make a play out of it,” Kent murmurs, and decides double-fuck-it and puts the side of his face against Alexei’s chest and nuzzles him. He feels Alexei suck in his breath, but he doesn’t pull away and Kent takes that as a good sign. He nuzzles further, and manages to worm one arm behind Alexei’s back.

There’s more silence, then gentle fingers coming up to knock off Kent’s snapback and brush through his fucked up hat-hair. Kent allows himself a small noise of contentment.

“If this were Vegas or if we lived a different life or...dunno,” Kent says slowly, “I’d be asking you on a date right now.”

There’s another pause. Then fingers touch his chin and draw him away, and his gaze up, and Alexei’s eyes are intense and wondering, and all encompassing like he could swallow Kent’s soul before either of them could blink.

“Go on date with me,” Alexie says, so soft it’s almost a whisper. “Can be secret. Will cook, light candles, pour wine. Make nice for you.”

Kent’s so startled and scared and flattered and fucking wanting so much he blurts out, “Okay but you said you wanted to kick my ass.”

“And now I’m want to kiss you,” Alexei counters. “Can change mind. Is okay to change mind.”

“Oh.” Oh. God he feels like such a fucking dumbass. Oh. But Alexei’s smiling and brushing Kent’s jaw with his thumb and it feels so fucking good. “You can kiss me,” he says. “You...I want you to kiss me.”

He’s nervous for all of the four seconds it takes for Alexei to whisper, “Okay,” and lean forward.

Kent isn’t sure what to expect, but he knows it’s not the sudden, careful way Alexei cups his cheeks. It’s sure as hell not Alexei bending forward and brushing his lips--a barely there flutter of kisses along his cheeks, at the tip of his nose, a firm, gentle press to the corner of his mouth.

Kent feels his breath coming out in shaking gasps and one hand has fisted itself in the back of Alexei’s shirt, the other splayed flat and pressing into the sofa cushion. He wonders if he’s being placated or toyed with, but then Alexei cups his jaw more firmly, and tilts his head just the way he wants it, and their mouths meet.

It’s tentative at first, but not the way it was a moment ago. Their lips meet with a hint of desperation, taking only seconds before they’re parting, and tongues are sliding together.

Alexei moans outright, and it sends Kent flying off the edge of reason, and he’s suddenly climbing into Alexei’s lap. Alexei seems pleased by this, because he’s dragging Kent closer, digging fingers into his hips, holding him fast and firm like he’s afraid if he loosens his grip, Kent might slip away.

They eventually do part. Kent breaks the kiss to breathe, and he rests his forehead against Alexei’s. He’s half up on his knees so their faces are relatively the same height, and he’s holding Alexei by the shoulders.

Alexei’s grinning, and Kent’s eyes are crossed, and their noses keep nuzzling together and Kent thinks maybe this is the happiest he’s ever been in his entire life.

Alexei moves a hand from Kent’s hips, back to his face, cupping Kent’s cheek with that same tentative care. His thumb brushes along Kent’s constellations of freckles, and he whispers something that Kent thinks is the word for beautiful, but he’s too afraid to hope for it.

“Too much?” Alexei eventually asks.

Kent shakes his head. “I...don’t want to go too fast. But I um. I want this. I want to um...I don’t just want...”

“No,” Alexei says, and curls his arm fully round Kent’s waist, dragging him as close as he can manage. “More than just one night.”

Kent nods, not trusting his voice right now, which seems to be okay because Alexei doesn’t have any problems with speaking words aloud for the both of them.

“Next time date. Next time I’m come to Vegas, meet Kit.”

“I’ll take you out. Wherever you wanna go, anywhere,” Kent says, his voice just shy of fierce. He panics about it for a second, because it was shit like this that always scared Zimms. Jack had never been good with emotions or feelings or letting himself have things that he wanted. It was such a counter point to how much Kent felt, how much he wanted and wanted to give himself.

Kent had known it was doomed from the start and maybe if he hadn’t been sixteen and fucking stupid, he wouldn’t have let himself feel it so much.  
He worries now, but just long enough for Alexei to smile and laugh and kiss Kent once more and say, “I’m just want you, I think.”

Kent feels that in his chest, gives a whole body shudder, and gives himself into the next kiss. When he pulls back he just whispers, “Okay,” and feels the curve of Alexei’s smile against his mouth.

Alexei hums in contentment and drags a hand through Kent’s hair before saying, “You stay. Tonight. We go slow, but I have you so little during season. So...you stay?”

And now Alexei sounds unsure and a little afraid, so Kent nods and pushes his face against the crook of Alexei’s neck and whispers, “Yeah. I’ll stay.”


End file.
